Birds Of A Feather
by Summertime-Snow
Summary: There was Hunter - the epitome of the perfect son; and then there was Sebastian. In-your-face, uncensored and fearless Sebastian. But birds of a feather flock together, so why the hell shouldn't they? Sort of AU, in which Hunter doesn't transfer to Dalton because of some Show Choir Scholarship, but because someone makes him realise that he has no reason to stay in Colorado Springs


_**Author's Note**: Hi everyone! Holidays are fast approaching and I've been feeling like writing a Hunter x Sebastian story for a while now, so I just thought I'd combine the two! I know it doesn't really fit into the schedule of events in terms of the dates, but this is sort of my take on how Hunter ended up at Dalton (just choosing to disregard the Transferred-from-Colorado-Springs-on-Full-Scholarship thing in this fic -I claim artistic licence!)._

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**_Birds of A_ Feather  
****.:**_One:._

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Hunter hated Christmas.

Not like the Grinch or anything as severe, but he detested the parties and the sickeningly sweet, unnaturally happy atmosphere at the events. Or perhaps it was exclusively the parties that his parents threw to please their clients – out of obligation rather than festivity.

The large, extravagant crystal chandeliers of the Clarington Mansion were aglow in all their glory, casting vibrant rays of golden light onto the tables upon tables of rich delicacies. Ranging from colourful, petite hors d'oeuvres to traditional Christmas pudding and even a gleaming turkey and leg of ham, the catering was nothing short of a feast. Polished brass frames and trims and copious amounts of luxurious velvet and leather furnishings completed the impression of a glittering, glamorous convention for the upper middle class and beyond. It was a heck of a party, perfect in all regards and exactly what his parents intended it to be. Their clients and business partners were impressed and the chances of that big merger were looking all the more promising.

Hunter stood on the second floor landing, watching the finely-dressed men and women mingle and chat as they ate on the floor below. He took a sip of the champagne in his hand and sighed disinterestedly. Politics and business were never his game.

He downed sip after sip of the golden liquid, relishing in the ways the bubbles popped and sparkled in his mouth, releasing an explosion of sensation and flavour. He would never admit it out loud, but Champagne was a favourite of his – one that he was seriously deprived of in Military School.

Most would resent the decision of being shipped off involuntarily to Military School, and Hunter was no exception. However, it didn't take long for him to find himself enjoying the prospect of it more and more. He enjoyed the pattern, the discipline, the routine; the regularity and machine-like efficiency of the days – no time wasted on feelings or petty human nature. Everything had its place and when that was enforced, shit got done and results were achieved. Possibly, some may peg it down to his upbringing – cold, detached and socially deprived – that the teenager had such unorthodox beliefs, but nobody he was associated with complained. His parents were pleased with the man Military School had moulded their boy into; the epitome of the perfect, well-mannered son, because as far as his parents were concerned, all that mattered was the illusion; the appearance of perfection.

They didn't seem to notice how he had trained himself to never show any emotion or any trace of personality. He was Hunter Clarington. But he wasn't _Hunter_. They didn't know he loved to sing, and possessed talent and passion in performing. That he was, in spite of his tough façade, a great lover of books, especially the classics. That he never had anyone close enough to consider a best friend.

He'd finished his second flute of Champagne and had lifted his eyes from the crowd in search of a nearby waiter when he saw him.

He had green eyes, green enough to rival the emerald orbs that were Hunter's own. As he watched, the boy turned his gaze to the pretty blonde girl chatting him up, his look of disinterest quickly replaced by a charming quirk of the lips followed by a kiss on the back of her hand. She blushed, and nodded in response to what he whispered into her ear before waltzing away with a swish of her expensive chiffon gown. Barely giving her retreating form so much as a second glance, the boy turned gracefully on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

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He'd had his fourth Champagne and was on a crystal glass of Scotch on Rocks. Hunter was by no means a lightweight when it came to drinking – years of sensible alcohol consumption had allowed him to build up a tolerance. His mind was still relatively clear, albeit a little in hyper drive, when he sensed the presence of another body leaning next to him on the stairwell railing.

"This party," a voice began, and Hunter braced himself to listen to yet another patronizing guest gush with an endless stream of compliments and praises about his parents' adeptness at hosting the perfect gathering "blows."

And with that one word, the stranger was no longer just some faceless droid to him – Hunter was intrigued enough to find out who the owner of the voice was enough to actually turn to face him.

Oh. It was him – the mysterious, unidentified face with the green, green eyes.

"Sebastian Smythe." So Green-eyes now had a name.

In his hazy state, Hunter didn't even notice that he had been gaping at Sebastian the whole time. It wasn't until the boy cleared his throat, a smug smirk slipping effortlessly into place on his heart-shaped face, that Hunter opened his mouth to speak, only to start choking on the odd bubble lodged in his throat.

"Easy there, Killer." Sebastian grinned. "A simple 'hello' would suffice."

"Hunter" he managed to sputter, wincing at the alcohol burning a path down both his oesophagus and windpipe. Perhaps, he thought, he'd had just a tad bit too much to drink. "Hunter Clarington."

The second the words escaped his lips, he regretted them. The accidental revelation of his last name caused Hunter to groan inwardly. Now, undoubtedly, Sebastian would apologise immensely for having insulted his host, then politely excuse himself to prevent further humiliation; effectively eliminating what would possibly have been Hunter's only chance for conversation that wouldn't make him want to light his ears on fire.

However, Sebastian merely quirked an eyebrow at him before turning to catch the attention of a nearby waiter, seemingly having no intention of leaving Hunter's side. It seemed this boy was just full of surprises, doing the exact opposite of what Hunter would have expected.

"Well then, your parents sure know how to throw a good festive party." Sebastian quipped, voice dripping with sarcasm. "If brown-nosing, ass-kissing and wealth-flaunting are the key aspects of a Christmas get-together, then they have done a pretty darn marvelous job." He grabbed two flutes of Champagne off the brass tray and handed one to Hunter, who accepted it wordlessly. "I mean, fuck colourful Christmas cookies and festive red and green stockings and cliché mistletoe. Silver, gold and diamonds are the way to go these days, no?"

Hunter couldn't do much more than blink, dumbfounded, at his new acquaintance. Sebastian was rude, ungrateful and so outrageously obnoxious and arrogant that he almost seemed to inexorably be floating in his own cocoon of self-assurance. He was infuriatingly condescending and quite honestly, he just had that certain quality that made Hunter want to punch him squarely in the face.

But he respected the guy's guts for being honest; and he appreciated that what Sebastian was saying was nothing but the very same thoughts that had been running through Hunter's own mind all evening. He wasn't just another one of those brainwashed sheep who tagged along mutely – he understood. He empathized. Most of all, Sebastian's little sarcastic sermon was the exactly the kind of witty, brutally candid speech that the old, pre-military school Hunter would have given to the face of the host of any such party without so much as a sliver of hesitation. He was in-your-face, uncensored and fearless when it came to speaking his mind. He was entirely reminiscent of who Hunter would have, could have been.

"Hmm. I pegged you for the articulate type. Evidently I was mistaken." Sebastian drawled in his characteristically bored and condescending, yet mesmerizing voice. Chugging back the remainder of his drink, he smacked his lips intentionally loudly then placed a large hand firmly on Hunter's shoulder. "Well, it's been great chatting with you, Buddy. Seeya around, I guess."

And with that, he was gone; leaving the large question mark that was Sebastian Smythe in Hunter's mind.

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_**Author's Note**: Ta-dah! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it (:_

_Also, this will probably be a Three Shot, from what I have planned._


End file.
